Monday, June 3, 2013

The Lass on the water's edge


Sitting there by the water’s edge,
she broods on the day that gave her so much.
and the night that stole it all from her.

Perhaps the moon will cool her burning passions,
perhaps the nightingale will sing to her a song of joy.
Perhaps the winds will sway her hair,
which covers a face turned ashen,
perhaps the falling leaf will caress a face, timid and coy.

But the moon only stares at her from the shimmering waters,
and the winds shriek at her with a frosty face.
The nightingale flies past her without a song,
and the withering leaf rolls on the earth with a hurried pace.

In the waters that ripples besides her,
She sees him smiling away,
The beloved who left her at the waters edge,
Giving her dreams she sees night and day.

And then the memories come back and the promises too.
The waters turn into a liquid canvas,
painted with colours of every hue.

She sees him in the waters and waits for his return,
and hope against hope for the tide to turn.

Here she will relive the moments they shared together,
here she sees her dreams painted with a fine sketch.
Nobody will know why, in the cold of the night,
there sits a lass on the water’s edge.

© 2013 Abhijit Pandit